


For the Kids

by Bobblychicken



Category: Cars (Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobblychicken/pseuds/Bobblychicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cuddly request of Ripslinger and Dusty getting invited to visit the kids at Canada’s most prestigious children’s hospital for mystery Anon on the Tumblr page. That’s right, I just used the words “cuddly” and “Ripslinger” in the same sentence. Rated for language.</p>
<p>Only warnings here are dangerous levels of cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Kids

The SickKids Hospital for Sick Children. The premier children's hospital in all of Canada, and one of the most prestigious in the world. Winner of multitudes of awards, and discoverers of countless more treatments for defects and diseases. And both Dusty and Ripslinger had been invited to the hospital to bring attention to their research division's identification of the gene responsible for a type of Brittle Frame Disease. Who better than two world-renowned racing greats from the US?

Dusty had practically finished packing even before they had gotten word that Ripslinger's PR reps had approved him accompanying Dusty to Toronto, as he well knew that they would considering the kind of publicity such a thing would draw up. Once all arrangements had been made and paperwork and contracts had been finalized, it was all too much excited anticipation for Dusty.

"I'm gonna play with SO many kids!"

Ripslinger was supposed to be flying in from L.A., and then the both of them would head from Propwash Junction to Eastern Iowa Airport to catch their flight, which connects from Chicago to Toronto, Ontario. Ripslinger had complained about them taking a public airline, despite them flying first class, saying that his own personal touring plane, Kurtis, could make the trip in one shot, but Dusty had insisted that they didn't need to be bothering him with it.

"Hey!" Dusty had piped up, "I wonder if we should try and see Rochelle while we're up there. Montreal isn't too far away."

"Nah, both her and El Chupacabra are in Tijuana right now." Rip informed him.

"Oh. Hmm." Dusty responded, smiling thoughtfully.

Upon arriving Chicago, Dusty was struck at how enormous it was compared to Eastern Iowa, looking like some sort of tentacled sea thing from the air. After some trouble at check in, they made their way through to the terminals. O'Hare was very bright and open inside from it's atrium-like ceilings. World flags lined the main terminal, long corridors branching off from it. Dusty had never been to this particular airport, and nearly ran into someone coming the other way while he was distracted trying to see every little thing. Dusty, red-faced, laughed a mortified apology and moved to catch up with Ripslinger.

"Dusty!" he scolded, but failing to hold back a laugh. "Can I not take you anywhere? Come on, we are so late for our connect now because of those bastards at check in."

They took off from Chicago for Canada. The two planes played game after game of gin rummy to pass the longer flight time between there and Toronto, betting everything from peanuts to trips to Tuscany until the plane landed so roughly when they arrived in Toronto that Dusty started and practically jumped on top of Ripslinger.

"Ah, Dusty!" the Mustang grunted, trying to shrug him off. "What's the matter with you? Were you not expecting her to hit the runway?"

"Well yeah, but not like that!" Dusty contested.

It was around nine-thirty at night when they touched down. Toronto Pearson International wasn't quite as large as Chicago O'Hare, but with it being that much wider and open, it felt just as big. As they waited for their luggage at the baggage claim, they became more and more aware of a certain sinking, foreboding feeling as fewer and fewer bags were coming through, Dusty having gotten all of his, but Riplinger was still missing one.

"... Fuck!"

After checking into the Park Hyatt hotel, Dusty had set up the laptop first thing so that he could Skype back home to let everyone know that they had made it safely, but with all the yelling going on in the background, care of a certain checker-marked Mustang, it was obvious to those on the other end of the line that it wasn't without issue.

"What's Rip's problem?" Skipper asked.

"Oh he's freaking out because one of his bags never made it over here." Dusty griped dismissively, by that time Ripslinger was off the phone and had come over to the monitor to continue ranting.

"See?! **This** is why I wanted **Kurtis** to fly us! My fucking bag is lost somewhere, and I can guaran **tee** you I'll never get it back!" the P-51 spouted off, "And you know what's even worse? Is that I had thousands and thousands of dollars worth of gear and merchandise in that case; like designer promotional gear that was supposed to be for the kids!"

Dusty, taking advantage of the pause in the tirade, explained to the looks of slightly frightened concern.

"When we had to go down and go through the bag for that gun, I guess all the other luggage already gone through and-"

"It's not a **gun** , it's a pin! Okay, here." Ripslinger snapped, bringing down the right of his first pair of propellers into view. "See this pin right here?" he continued, seeming just a tad bit calmer as he indicated a gold diamond-accented pin in the shape of an Browning M2 clipped into the leather covering he was currently wearing. "It was part of the grand prize for winning the Grand National War Thunder Conference in 2008; it was the race that I defeated Caesar the King. Well, I'm wearing it now, but it was in my bag, and I've seriously gone through dozens of airports with this thing and I've never had a problem. No one's ever stopped me, or said 'What is that?'"

"Right," Dusty took over again, "so I'm walking up to check in and I see everybody all of a sudden move away and I hear Rip go, 'Oh, it's this.' and he pulled the pin out. And then they went and put it through the scanner again, just by it self and it actually looked like a real gun."

"Yeah, I'll admit that," Ripslinger conceded, "Like seriously it came up on the screen and when it was magnified, and I kid you not, it looked like a real fucking gun. And the thing that bothers me is that- turn it over Dusty."

Dusty sighed, rolling his eyes as he moved over and slipped one of his propeller blades underneath the pin and flipped it up, revealing that the back of it was completely featureless before he moved off to go explore the hotel room, leaving his poor friends at the mercy of Ripslinger's raving.

"See, if you flip it over, it's flat, it's thin, and obviously it's way to small to be real in the first place. It's just one of the weirdest most frustrating things that's ever happened to me at an airport, but they made us take it out and put it through the scanner again, and that was the case that's missing and I'm really pissed off, and-"

There was a pause then, as a gleefully surprised "Cool!" could be heard from Dusty and then a very suspicious sound of glass clinking together.

"Oh, great," said Ripslinger, "Sounds like someone's found the mini bar."

"Oh please, _please_ don't let Dusty get drunk, please." Dottie begged.

"I won't," the checker-marked Mustang moaned.

"Speaking of which, are you going to come out cursing and carrying on like you usually do when you're on stage, or are you going to button it up for the kids?" Skipper asked. 

"Oh don't even start with that; Dusty's been digging a hole in my side the whole way over here about my mouth," Ripslinger complained, "I'm good."

"I'm surprised they even invited you in the first place," added Chug, "It's kind of your trademark."

"You're telling me."

When the P-51 finally signed off, he found Dusty wide-eyed on the edge of his sleeping mat watching what looked like some cooking show on the hotel's flatscreen TV. He looked like he was about to start drooling.

"What are you doing?" Ripslinger asked.

"I'm just watching this cake being made," answered Dusty distantly, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Funny, I thought you had to pay for the porn in the hotel rooms."

"Shut up, Rip." said Dusty, his tone unwavering except for the slightest edge tinting it.

The green and black plane chuckled and headed for the conjoining door to his own room, but then Dusty suddenly seemed to come out of his trance and stopped him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I'm going to my room."

"Please don't! Sit with me, don't leave me!" Dusty whined.

"Alright!" the larger plane relented, coming over and climbing up onto the sleeping mat next to Dusty, the little plane scooting aside to let him up only to cuddle right back up into his side. The green and black plane let out an amused but somewhat irked snort from his engine. "What did we even get a double room for?"

The next day the two wandered around town to get a bite to eat and to do some exploring. Dozens of people came up to them while they were out for autographs or pictures or just to say hi, a few of them hanging around accompanying the star racers as one big group while they made their way through the city. Dusty still had yet to get used to such recognition and attention being showered upon him, but Ripslinger of course could always be counted upon to take it all in stride, stopping to talk to and indulge every single fan that came up to them on the street. It was something that he'd always stayed true to, even through his darker years, although there was no mask being worn now as he genuinely seemed to be enjoying himself as the two planes led an ever growing procession up and down the streets, his nose held proudly high. Later on, back at the hotel the two racers were getting settled in for the night, with Dusty invading Ripslinger's room this time.

"Put on some music, Dusty, since you're going to be over here." the green and black plane was saying.

"Do you care what we listen to?"

"No. Just no show-tunes, okay?"

Dusty turned and grinned at him, chuckling, before queuing Volume 2: Vintage in the MP3 player. He was in a Dilla kind of mood anyway.

"Hope you don't mind if it's still old." he said.

"Ooh, not at all," Ripslinger remarked, perking up a little bit, but then said, steadily articulating the words, "You need to slow down," in response to Dusty polishing off his third drink for the night, "The last thing we need is America's golden boy showing up all hungover in front of the kids and all the rest of the world."

"I've only had like three drinks. I'm barely even buzzed right now." Dusty lied, but Ripslinger already knew and wasn't having it.

"My aft! Remember your last birthday party? How you kept saying "One more couldn't hurt" and then you ended up barfing your guts out all night yelling "It's my birthday-bleeeehhh! I can do what I wan-bleeeehhh!" Remember any of that?"

Dusty's eyes were wide in innocent surprise as they slid to the side for a moment as if thinking.

"...No."

"Just get over here." Ripslinger snapped, and Dusty moped his way over to the sleeping mat as "Coastin'" started it's gradual emanation from the stereo speakers.

"Whatever, I'm really tired anyway." the smaller plane mumbled as he clambered up next to Ripslinger, snuggling in and murmuring softly, "You smell nice, Rip."

"Because I went out and got washed today while you were taking a nap. Need to look my best after all and all that jazz."

"Just please don't swear or talk slag about anybody," Dusty said sleepily, his eyes already closed.

"I know, I know, I can't say "fuck", I'll be on my best behavior." Ripslinger assured him tiredly.

He leaned over, giving the orange and white racer a few licks on top of his canopy before settling down himself and blowing out a sigh. Tomorrow should prove to be _really_ interesting.

XXxx

Dusty and Ripslinger stood, the both of them wide eyed, Dusty with his mouth slightly agape, in front of the main entrance to SickKids Hospital for Sick Children. The main building was immense, taking up an entire city block. A beautiful, sparking blue and green glass atrium towered above them, a tunnel going from it to what used to be the original hospital across the street, which was now largely a laboratory. More brick-colored towers sprouted up all around it, miss-matched in height and looking almost dropped into place as in a game of Tetris. It only got more grandiose as the two star racing planes were graciously ushered in; even Ripslinger seemed oblivious to the cameras of the umpteen different news corporations that followed them. It was like nothing they'd ever seen, looking almost more like a shopping mall than a hospital. There were even little shops and kiosks on the first floor that you could poke around in.

"This is amazing!" Dusty declared in astonishment.

They were taken on a tour of the whole facility apart from some of the more sensitive or intensive wards, smiling at the cute murals that lined the walls and ceilings of most of the corridors. Stylized depictions of grassy meadows and blue skies with various farm vehicles prancing about and colorful seascapes. It did wonders to break up the sterility of your usual hospital setting and made it seem much less hollow and scary. Still, as incredible as everything was, Dusty in particular couldn't help but notice that for a children's hospital, there was a distinct lack of kid everywhere they went. His question was answered upon entering one of the larger cafeterias and finding that it had been cleared out, and once inside they were beset upon by dozens of children.

Little cars and even a few planes and tiny forklifts of all makes and models were falling over themselves and each other trying to get to the two, much bigger, planes. Their parents looked on with delight as they were both surrounded in an instant. Dusty looked like he'd died and gone to heaven at finally getting what he'd been most looking forward to in this whole trip. Ripslinger on the other had, drawing more attention because of his colossal size compared to the little ones, was stock-still as they were all jumping up and trying to clamber over him, squealing in pure, unadulterated glee and excitement. His eyes were wide and his lips were pressed together in a thin line as he almost seemed to be too afraid to move or make any noise, as if to not provoke an attack.

"Aw, come on, you big baby!" Dusty chided with a huge, happy grin on his face as he trudged over to the petrified plane with his own group of kids hanging off of him, "Stop being so awkward!"

Dusty was content to leave him at the mercy of the enthusiastic children for at least a little bit. As entertaining as it was to watch, he thankfully came back over to draw most of their attention away to avoid a surely impending meltdown on the part of the checker-marked plane.

Once Ripslinger was able to get away, he went to go stand with the reps and chief medical staff as they watched the mesmerizing command that Dusty seemed to have over all the kids. He was like the pied piper the way they were just so enamored with him as he chased them around, and then would pretend that the tables had been turned and suddenly they would all be after him, laughing and screaming, where they would eventually catch him. He was a natural, and he was having a blast.

"Incredible..." remarked one of the heads as Dusty was currently trapped under a pile of children. "A lot of them are getting over or have just recovered from some pretty serious injuries or systemic infections. No one would ever believe these were the same kids from even just a few moments ago. Who knew that Mr. Crophopper would have that kind of effect?"

"Who knew..." was Ripslinger's only response.

Eventually he ventured back out onto the floor, even laying down and allowing the little ones to get a better look at him, trying to hold his composure down when their little tires tickled him as they climbed all over him. Dusty was happy to look over to see him even appearing to be bonding to one of them, a twin-engine Piper half-breed with contra-rotating propellers who had obviously just had major work done judging by the external fixators in what looked like a badly injured wing.

"Yeah, I thought I was a freak too when I was old enough to realize I was born with two hubs," he heard him saying to the relieved and overjoyed young plane.

Later, during their visit Dusty had noticed that Ripslinger was no longer in the midst of children in the cafeteria, and spotted him over talking to the head staff, and then there were papers and other things being signed. As they were leaving the hospital, Dusty questioned him about what it was all about.

"I just made everyone's medical bills current." he replied simply, as if it were no big deal.

"Oh my god, Rip, no way!" Dusty breathed, absolutely astounded.

"Cost me a heck of a lot less than that case that the stupid airline lost."

"No it didn't!" Dusty insisted, pushing against the larger plane playfully. "Stop acting like you didn't do something awesome!"

All in all, the day really wasn't a horrible experience. Ripslinger was able to relax eventually, and once pictures were taken and more autographs signed, although they were pretty sure a few of them weren't just for the kids, they rested back in their hotel rooms on their last night in Toronto. Ripslinger came out of his room into Dusty's to see him eating something and attentively watching the RSN on his sleeping mat.

"What'cha eatin'?" he asked as he came up to him.

"Dippin' Dots," Dusty answered, not looking away from the ticker. "They had a stand in the food court at the entrance to the hospital."

" **That's** what those are?!"

"Yeah, you've never seen 'em?"

"I've seen the little stands, but I've never been curious enough to actually buy some," Ripslinger said as he examined the little pearls of ice cream. "Looks like tapioca."

"Yeah, it does," said Dusty in thoughtful realization.

"Can I have some?"

"Sure," the orange and white racer said, taking a good tongue-full before sliding the bowl over to Ripslinger, who took an experimental lick before commenting.

"...Interesting..."

Once the Dippin' Dots were gone, the P-51 climbed up into bed with Dusty as they watched and commented on the different segments of nighttime RSN programming. He cuddled up next to Ripslinger and relished in the green and black plane actually reacting to him and participating this time as they pressed as much of their frames together as they possibly could. The high, almost trilling purr from the younger plane's engine stimulated Ripslinger's own engine to respond, a low, rumbling growl wavering down into the closest thing he ever got to such a noise, both planes completely relaxed at the feeling of support and security of having another soul nearby. Dusty had been in contact with the older plane enough to recognize the sentiment well enough even though others might find the noise a little threatening.

The two racers commenced entertaining such puzzling questions as "Why do people care so much who famous people date?" or "You'd think with how down viewership and patronage are nowadays they'd find a way to jazz-up NSACAR at some point." That was until Ripslinger started at the next question Dusty asked as footage from their visit to SickKids was being played, showing Ripslinger, with a not unsubstantial smile on his face, as he leaned down to let the kids hug and jump all over him one more time before they had left.

"Do you want kids?"

"What?" the question was breathed, thinking he hadn't heard right until Dusty continued.

"I mean, you're getting up there in age; don't you ever think about it? Find a mate, have some children..."

"Dusty, I'm like **four** years older than you," Ripslinger interrupted, the feelings of comfort fast beginning to be replaced with awkwardness and confusion, "and no, the thought's never crossed my mind."

"Really? You're just going to be a bachelor your whole life?"

"No! I mean, I don't know... Why are you asking me all this all of a sudden? Do **you** want kids?"

"Well yeah, someday," Dusty answered as if it weren't even a question. After a few moments of silence between the two, he thought. Then he asked, "Are you afraid to? I mean, because of what happened..."

Ripslinger sighed, he too had been in deep thought.

"Let's get some sleep." he said at length. "We've got a long day of dealing with airports tomorrow and I'm gonna need all the energy I can get if they try to pull something again." Dusty stared up at him then, that same something in his eyes that sparked off Ripslinger's turn for the better all that time ago, still thinking, but then he closed them and smiled as the P-51 gave him a few licks, nuzzling him a bit before saying, "One step at a time, Dusty..."

**Author's Note:**

> Aw, man. That was so sweet I think I got a cavity writin’ that. It was just too adorable. The cute… too much… can’t… take it… *dead*
> 
> But seriously, for those unfamiliar with my chaptered fic “If You Tame Me”, you might be a little confused as to whats going on, namely why Dusty and Rip seem to be getting along. This takes place just a little while after the events of it. They are not Bonded Companions (for more info: http://bobblychicken.tumblr.com/post/131630805727/attention-class), but at this point they have obviously gotten used to each other and are starting to get quite comfortable as we all get treated to a glimpse of the future and a recovering Ripslinger. Hope everyone, especially mystery anon, enjoyed! A pleasure as always! 
> 
> By the way, SickKids is a real, awesome-ass hospital in Toronto, Ontario Canada.


End file.
